


Fury

by vulcanarmr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x03 coda, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coda, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester-centric, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kinda, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Sad Dean Winchester, Season/Series 15, The Impala (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanarmr/pseuds/vulcanarmr
Summary: "My feelings have become my biggest enemy."~~~A short 15x03 coda.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 18





	Fury

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this for an english project in which we had to use descriptive language to describe a short moment either from our own memories or from the perspective of a fictional character. my fangirl ass obviously chose to write from the perspective of a fictional character, and since i had just rewatched 15x03 and was crying over it, i decided to write a coda on that. the language is meant to be really descriptive, so it probably doesn't sound too much like what Dean's internal thoughts would really sound like, but i hope you enjoy it! comments and kudos are always appreciated <3

I’m driving.

Just driving.

The engine yells in my ears. I can feel it reverberating through my body. Through my head. Through my heart. Roaring like the monster, the demons of my own problems eating away at me. The air, cold and sharp, attacks me from the open windows and gnaws at my hands, which now sit with fingers curled and frozen around the steering wheel.

It gnaws at me like my feelings.

I act like I don’t care, and that’s what they see, what they saw when I snapped. What they saw when I sent him away. He thought he was dead to me. Maybe he was, for just the smallest moment. Maybe for just the smallest moment, I didn’t care. But he didn’t know that the truth is I care too much. I care about him. I love him. But my feelings have become my biggest enemy, despite everything I’ve gone through in my life, all the quarrels and fights I’ve had. My feelings come out on top every time. And I let them all get to me too easily.

I get too angry.

All the time, I’m angry. And when things go bad, it comes out, bursting out of me in a flash of fury and hatred. Voice screaming, mind clouding, I snap like fireworks on the fourth of July. I break things, both physical and not. I destroy lamps, mirrors, bottles, relationships, lives. Myself. Anything within the reach of my distraught hands.

And I can’t control it.

I know it’s my dad’s fault. Kicking, screaming, my childhood was ripped away, and he made sure I learned things at six that most people don’t hear about in their entire lifetime. After my mom was killed, taken by the fire, he didn’t see me as his son. So he made me into his soldier. But I’m too loyal to blame him, to admit he wasn’t a good father, even though he’s not around anymore to tell me what a mistake I am. Because I’m a good little soldier, just a grunt.

All these thoughts scream in my mind, overwhelming me as I pass yet another landmark, dark and shadowy in the dim glow of a distant street lamp and the faint light of my headlights. The tears start to form, acid against my eyes, threatening to burn holes in me if they fall. I begin to wonder what it would be like if things were different. If I hadn’t lost as many people as I have. If I knew how to act differently in certain situations. If I weren’t so angry all the time.

If I could be happy.

My eyes release the tears they’ve been holding back, and they fall, streaming down my face in hot rivulets like blood from an open wound. They drip down my chin, blotching the fabric of my sleeves. But still I drive, farther and faster. Because the sound of the engine, despite it’s monster-like growling, despite summoning up a constant reminder, brings me comfort in a way. The sound echoes terribly at times, but it resounds comfortably all the same. I know that sounds messed up. That it doesn’t seem to make sense, or that it appears twisted and wrong. But it makes sense to me.

Because I’m messed up.

But why think about that if there’s nothing to do to fix it?

One of my frigid hands manages to unwrap itself from the steering wheel and move to the knob of the radio. Music slowly floods the interior of the car, seeping into my brain, drowning out some of the awful-but-comforting sound of the engine. The tune is one I know, and so my lips part and warp to form the words, vocal cords straining and forcing a sound from my throat to sing along. My voice feels more than sounds broken, but again, what’s the point in thinking about that if no one can fix it? It’s fine. I’ll be okay tomorrow. At least, I’ll be able to say I am.

And I’m driving.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you liked this short little fic. have a great day!


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